An unusual, foreign music unravels through the air. In the distance I catch one cleaning out an instrument that looks somewhat like a wooden flute.
There are hundreds of them. The dark fae swarm, but the divide is unavoidable.
Down the tail of the camp, a rope is tied to two carts, cutting a boundary between the fae and the kuris. Down their end, there’s only one beige tent and a whole lot of humans going about chores.
Pots are boiling soups on fire pits, the smell of tomatoes thick in the air, a group of three scrubbing blood-stained armour clean, more carting pots of water and baskets stacked full with crockery.
With Cliff nowhere in sight, I know I need to join them.
‘Go to work’, the fae told me.
I’ve been standing at the tent too long, now. The longer I’m out here, the more exposed and vulnerable I’ll become. I make to leave but before I can turn towards the kuri end of camp, a pair of embers catches my attention—
My heart leaps up into my throat.
Midway up the camp, Cliff stands near a fire pit, the orange flames blazing in his eyes. The skin pulled tight over his chest glistens like liquid caramel and the reflection of his black straps remind me of tar.
The urge to go to him seizes my legs; I take a step forward, but stop when I catch the gentle shake of his head. Lashes lower over embers as he warns me off coming to him and, with a jerk of the head, he gestures to the kuri side of camp.
My heart is still lodged in my throat. Now, it swells and suffocates me, stealing me of all my breath.
Can’t stop the burn of tears on my eyes.
With dampening eyes, I trace his gesture down to the kuris.
He did warn me of this, time and time again. Only, I never expected to wake up after those pills took me, never anticipated that I would actually be here in his camp, so how could I prepare myself for his detached dismissal?
It hurts worse than I thought it would.
Inside my chest, a knife twists and at the same time, he guts me clean. Turning my back to him, I make my way to the other kuris, feeling the wetness of tears rolling down my cheeks.
Guess I’m on my own now.
10
Curious eyes shadow me as I duck under the washing line pulled tight between two carts. A ripple of interest washes over the kuris and, as I right myself, all gazes seem to be on me.
Hushed voices ignite all around me.
Unease is quick to lash in my gut.
Two things my anxieties never liked—complete silence and the whole attention of others. Thankfully, the pops and crackles of the fire pits and the noise from the dark fae side of camp are enough to drown out the gurgles of my gut.
Standing at the row of drying armour, I fold my arms over my chest, my gaze restless. Have no idea what to do with myself. So I just hover for a moment before I decide on the single beige tent down the way, where I can escape the stares and this wretched thick moment.
I make my way through the stilled group. As I pass, I cut a look around and estimate the kuris to be around two dozen in numbers. More than what they had back when the earth split and Cliff was separated from his people. They lost some kuris in that earthquake, but by the look of the ones around me, that wouldn’t seem to bother them much.
These humans are decrepit, all hollow faces, clothes hanging off bony bodies like rags, and sets of sunken eyes.
One of the more fuller-figured ones—yet still thinner than I am—comes into my path before I can reach the tent. Honey-brown eyes, round and shiny with a compassion that should be abandoned in this world, settle on my wary gaze.
He sticks out his hand, nails caked in dirt. “Gerard,” he introduces, his voice soft and fading like a breeze.
For a moment, I study the calluses on his fingers and lining the edge of his palm. Gingerly, I take his hand and shake it with my cleaner one.
Before it can invade, I shove the thoughts of Cliff’s better treatment of me out of my mind. Can’t afford any more knives to plunge into my crumbling heart and break me.
“Coralie,” I mumble, pulling my hand back, resisting the urge to wipe it on my hip.
A small, knowing smile slides onto his mouth. He nods. Then he speaks in my mother tongue, “We know who you are. Obviously we didn’t know your name. We’ve been calling you the fae pet.”
My face crumbles to ruins, a blend of moodiness and hurt. “I’m not a pet—”
Innocence softens his face before he lifts up his hands in surrender. “No offence meant,” he tells me, then peels back a strand of sawdust blond hair out of his eye.
In dire need of a hairdresser. But in this world, who isn’t? My honey-blonde is so flat and lifeless that it’s begging for some highlights. Never again, I suppose.
“How else am I meant to take it?” I challenge, the words fae pet rising back up in my mind.
“Oh, it’s just that we didn’t know your name,” he says, as though that explains it all. By my stony face, he realises it doesn’t, and adds, “It didn’t help that he—you know, the fae—carried you after the healer mended you … then you were put in the healer’s tent.” A faint blush crawls onto his high cheekbones as he shrugs one shoulder. “Kuris don’t get that treatment.”
“Right.” I nod briskly, then turn my gaze around the lower end of camp. The interest in me has fizzled somewhat with all the kuris getting back to their chores, but still, eyes cut to me every other heartbeat. “So I’m the new shiny object around here.”
“Guess so,” he says with a wide grin, revealing a set of yellowing crooked teeth. But he doesn’t look so awful. Some of his lean physique has been maintained, so I summon a thought that he might be more into the labour work.
“There are some rumours,” he adds delicately. At my bleak stare, he goes on, “Not that those matter. Any news around here sprouts some gossip. We don’t have much else to talk about.”
With a hum, I nod again, this time wandering my attention around the other kuris. Bet all they have to gossip about is murder and torture.
“What actually did happen?” Gerard probes, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper.
I turn my stare on him and blink. “He broke me,” is all I say.
Grim-faced, he latches a look of pity onto me for a beat, as though he understands my pain and experience perfectly. But of course, he’s thinking of broken bones and spilt blood, whereas I mean tangled together on the floor, his hot mouth on my core, his loving and tender kisses in the lantern light, and sitting on a bench in the dark, eating toffee and listening to the sea.
He could never understand my pain or experience. No one could. Not that I’ve ever heard of.
Deciding the talk is over, I make to move around Gerard for the tent. I really need a minute to myself, need a moment to let the tears spill without all these eyes shifting to me.
Gerard steps in my way, staggering back a bit, and lands his wild eyes on me. “No, no,” he says, rushed. “We all have to do chores. No one gets to rest just yet.”
“Oh.” I turn a look over my shoulder, as though I’ll see Cliff at the washing line and he’ll come save me from all of this. But I stare at drying armour instead, and he doesn’t come to my rescue.
“Hey, what’s in this?”
I blink, bringing my attention back to Gerard. His finger is hooked around the strap of my shoulder bag and he inspects it with a particular fascination—and I’m certain that’s not because it’s Prada.